


Lullaby

by paraboobizarre



Category: Tokio Hotel
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-11-25
Updated: 2007-11-25
Packaged: 2017-11-09 04:31:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/451290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paraboobizarre/pseuds/paraboobizarre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I had a lot of free time this afternoon and I actually wanted to come up with something a bit more umm...lemony.</p><p>However, as it is, my hormones are kicking me around and I always slip down into fluff'n'sap when I'm like that. So, unfortunately, no meaningless sex but only something so saccharine I should probably warn all those potential diabetics out there right now...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lullaby

Some evenings while they would all sit in the back of the tour bus, Bill sometimes gave him that _certain_ look. That one furtive glance, slanted through thick lashes, one eyebrow twitching upwards, lips curling into a short smile as Bill's eyes flitted through the bus, indicating the bunks before the slightly devious expression on his face melted back into the usual sweet and totally non-committal smile.

Those nights Tom would wait till everything was quiet on the bus, when the incessant turning of pages in Gustav's bunk was replaced by Georg's soft snoring and the only sounds where the humming of the engine and the subdued whispering of the radio up front in the driver's seat. 

Those nights, when Tom slipped out of his bunk into Bill's below his own, he always found Bill wide awake, naked under the sheets, everything glowing and soft with the warmth of his body. Bill would pull him under the blankets, a soft whispering kiss, Bill giggling about them being all stealthy and stuff, while he turned Tom on his back to climb on top of him. 

Most of these nights nothing even happened. A wise decision seeing as neither of them was exceptionally good at being quiet. Not that they hadn't been foolish enough to try it in the past; thinking about that one time Dave had been woken up by the racket they caused and had gotten up, thinking Bill was not feeling well and was rolling around in his bunk, groaning in _misery_...that memory alone was enough to deflate even the most obstinate hard-on. Dave had had his hand on the curtain already, they had come _this_ close to being caught.

After that incident everything that involved more than kissing and some innocent touches, had to be spared for places other than the tour bus, places where privacy consisted of more than a curtain or a folding door. Actual locks helped a lot to put them at ease, real walls, a foot of concrete between them and the rest of the world.

Still it was nice, sneaking into his brother's bed those nights, when Bill would stretch out at his side, legs intertwining, his crazy hair tickling the side of Tom's neck and Bill would snuggle up, drape himself all over him, whispering to him about things that had annoyed him that day, that he missed home, his dog and mum, his own bed, his fingertips running in aimless patterns over Tom's belly and arms, the back of his hand. 

Bill would ramble on and on until the whispers became more slurred and indistinct, the pauses longer, the yawns bigger, Bill's head on his shoulder growing heavier with every passing minute until Bill's hand would hang limply off Tom's side. One final sigh and his little bother would be fast asleep. 

It was always like that on the tour bus, Bill talking himself to sleep. It had become Tom's own personal lullaby and on those nights he didn't slip into his twin's bed, he found he had trouble falling asleep. He could rattle down a variation of one of Bill's usual tirades in his head, imagine Bill's weight was pressing him into that ghastly soft mattress, trying to put himself to sleep but it was never as good, never worked its magic like that.

He never felt as warm as he did when Bill was lying on top of him, he missed the almost overpowering sweet scent of Bill's sheets; the annoying fact Bill had to keep half a dozen pillows in the already tiny bunk and they way they crowded him in left and right.  
Those occasional kicks he received during the night, when Bill would jolt out of his dreams for a second or two, mumbling something that sounded a lot more like _forry Dom_ than the actual _sorry Tom,_ before he would be out cold again. 

Somehow Tom even missed the back pains sleeping in Bill's bunk usually gave him, or the numb limbs where Bill's weight cut off the circulation, or when Bill would drool on him a little in his sleep...something Tom found, maybe not very graceful, but terribly endearing nonetheless.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted at [ParabooBizarre @ Livejournal.com](http://paraboobizarre.livejournal.com/)


End file.
